07-31-2009, 01:54 AM
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500+
The woad-bound fae observed the loner with quiet eyes. "Skill in battle," the soft, Caledonian lilt countered, "is not the only quality attributing your worth." There were many things that made a warrior worthy, and, often, it was not skill in battle that deemed one as such. One may rise victories in all battles, but that did not make one a warrior—a mere fighter, perhaps, or even a killer, a murder. Those things were not the same as a warrior. And it was the mind that attributed such titles. The black fae herself did not train those of an unsound mind. It should always be that way. But she knew that it was not, and she knew that there were killers and murderers that wore the title of warrior, of knight, of soldier. And it was with these creatures that the warrior battled, for it was these creatures that brought threats to the boarders.
"I spar with warriors, and I meet them on the battlefield," the quiet melody sang once more as she moved to the side, walking past the coyote. Her white orbs held his gaze even as she passed, and then she turned them to the murmuring sea. "With murderers and killers, I battle." In the warrior’s mind, there was an acute difference, however similar the words. She did not know if the male would understand.
"And your soul wishes for a simple spar," the song both stated and questioned. There was a brief pause as she shifted her weight, her fingers brushing against her large stomach, considering the future in which the lives within directed her. Perhaps she would wait until they were ready to leave the den on their own, or perhaps a little sooner. Would she even be capable of raising them, or would they be better lived with Alexey Koios? And yet, she knew that she must care for these lives that the Dream claimed she must, and so she would wait patiently should she chose to uphold such a promise. "I am not yet certain of your quality," the quiet melody continued, her voice like silver in the cool nighttime air. She sensed a darkness, though unrefined, within him, but she could not see whether the air was clean or tainted. And so she made no promise yet.
At the sound of his name having been given, the woad-banded aurals swiveled to catch it upon the air. Turning with an ethereal grace, the woman gave a brief dip of her woad-bound maw, her voice singing, "Samael," in formal greeting, the name rolling fluidly from her foreign tongue. "Cwmfen nic Graine," she offered in return. And she did not offer titles, for he knew already that her blood was of warriors, and her scent would allow him to know from which pack she hailed. Her leadership did nothing in these unclaimed lands, nothing unless in belligerent circumstances. Briefly, her eyes flickered over his scarred face, and yet, despite the placement of the scars, his sight seemed to function still. The warrior considered the meaning of such a thing, and weighed his worth within her mind once more. Her own scars, because she fought most often in that natural shape, were upon her back, as if her life carried such weights heavily. "Do you request spars often of warriors?"
500+
The woad-bound fae observed the loner with quiet eyes. "Skill in battle," the soft, Caledonian lilt countered, "is not the only quality attributing your worth." There were many things that made a warrior worthy, and, often, it was not skill in battle that deemed one as such. One may rise victories in all battles, but that did not make one a warrior—a mere fighter, perhaps, or even a killer, a murder. Those things were not the same as a warrior. And it was the mind that attributed such titles. The black fae herself did not train those of an unsound mind. It should always be that way. But she knew that it was not, and she knew that there were killers and murderers that wore the title of warrior, of knight, of soldier. And it was with these creatures that the warrior battled, for it was these creatures that brought threats to the boarders.
"I spar with warriors, and I meet them on the battlefield," the quiet melody sang once more as she moved to the side, walking past the coyote. Her white orbs held his gaze even as she passed, and then she turned them to the murmuring sea. "With murderers and killers, I battle." In the warrior’s mind, there was an acute difference, however similar the words. She did not know if the male would understand.
"And your soul wishes for a simple spar," the song both stated and questioned. There was a brief pause as she shifted her weight, her fingers brushing against her large stomach, considering the future in which the lives within directed her. Perhaps she would wait until they were ready to leave the den on their own, or perhaps a little sooner. Would she even be capable of raising them, or would they be better lived with Alexey Koios? And yet, she knew that she must care for these lives that the Dream claimed she must, and so she would wait patiently should she chose to uphold such a promise. "I am not yet certain of your quality," the quiet melody continued, her voice like silver in the cool nighttime air. She sensed a darkness, though unrefined, within him, but she could not see whether the air was clean or tainted. And so she made no promise yet.
At the sound of his name having been given, the woad-banded aurals swiveled to catch it upon the air. Turning with an ethereal grace, the woman gave a brief dip of her woad-bound maw, her voice singing, "Samael," in formal greeting, the name rolling fluidly from her foreign tongue. "Cwmfen nic Graine," she offered in return. And she did not offer titles, for he knew already that her blood was of warriors, and her scent would allow him to know from which pack she hailed. Her leadership did nothing in these unclaimed lands, nothing unless in belligerent circumstances. Briefly, her eyes flickered over his scarred face, and yet, despite the placement of the scars, his sight seemed to function still. The warrior considered the meaning of such a thing, and weighed his worth within her mind once more. Her own scars, because she fought most often in that natural shape, were upon her back, as if her life carried such weights heavily. "Do you request spars often of warriors?"